The Lungo Drom
by laloga
Summary: Tintin meets a gypsy girl, and romantic antics ensue. Set during and after the events of The Castafiore Emerald, and told from an OC's perspective. Tintin/OC Please read and enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Tintin, or any other recognizable characters, though Miranda and Felix are all mine. Also, I'm not making any money from this endeavor, though I am loosing quite a bit of sleeping time__. More info about this, and my other stories, can be found on my author's page......_

**The Adventures Of Tintin:**

**The Lungo Drom**

_Author's Note: The basic meaning of the phrase, Lungo Drom ( LUN-go DHROME, rhymes with "roam,") in the language of my people, the Romany, is "the long road." However, it can signify many other things, which I hope you can ponder for yourself, but to me it has always meant the journey of life that carries us from birth to death; sometimes we stumble, sometimes the way is smooth and easy, sometimes you get a pebble in your shoe....I have been asked for many years to tell this story, and I shall try to do it justice, though my writing is poor and syntax is often jumbled, especially when compared to the images in my memories. Some of the dates may not be entirely accurate, as I have never been one to live by a calendar, but I have done my best to put the pieces of my life together in a pleasing manner. Gypsies are known for their storytelling skills, are they not?_

**Chapter One-May 16**

"Where's Miarka?"

I looked up as my sister, Ana, her face creased with worry, sat down next to me at the rear of the brightly painted wagon. "She was here a moment ago, where can she have gotten to? Mira, you must help me find her-with Rumen so ill, I cannot....." She trailed off, and swiped a tear from her eye. I put an arm around her shoulders and leaned my head to hers.

"You husband will get better, _cheya_, and we will find my troublesome niece, I know it."

After carefully setting down my guitar I rose to follow her around our ramshackle camp, peering behind every wagon, horse, and fellow Rom. None had seen my niece, and with every passing moment Ana wrung her hands and called her daughter's name again. "Miarka! Oh, Mira, she's just like you.....always running around with her head in the sky, never looking at the earth under her feet." We began to circle the perimeter of the camp, continuing the search. As if to prove Ana's point, I stumbled over an old car tire in my haste, and tumbled ungracefully to the ground.

"Hello lovely." Strong arms pulled me to my feet and I soon found myself face to face with Mike. Well, Michelangelo, really, though he detests his full name. The couisn of Ana's husband, Rumen, Miarka and her brother Tomas had taken to calling him "uncle." He was a handsome man, much taller than me with a proud nose and small mustache, with a smile that never failed to impress almost anyone, except me, for I knew it all too well_._ "Slow down_, bori, _or your feet will run away without you!"

"Mike! Thank you for your help," I turned away from him and pretended to inspect the tree line, carefully keeping my distance. Mike, however, didn't seem to notice.

"Anything for you, Mira. What's got Ana in such a fit? Don't tell me Miarka's...."

"Gone missing? Yes, well, you know how she is." A sudden motion in the woods caught my eye. _Someone's coming, _I thought, squinting through the trees. A glint of....copper?_ That's strange_....

"She's pure Romany, just like you," Mike's voice brought my attention back to him. "Never wants to stop wandering." He reached for my hand, and I looked back at his face. He was handsome and strong, and I felt nothing when our eyes met, even though we'd known each other for many years now. But, out of habit, I smiled back, and ignored the part of my mind that scowled at his touch. Luckily for me, the moment was broken with a sudden shout, making us turn back to the camp.

"Strangers, Mike! Strangers are coming!"

With a grumble and sigh, Mike excused himself from me and hurried back to the circle of wagons. I however, remained where I stood, watching them approach through the woods, until I realized that they would see me as soon as they passed a particularly large oak; I darted behind a wild rosebush, and peered out beneath the green, quietly cursing as my blouse was ripped by a few thorns. Experience had taught me that simple observation was the wisest thing to do in this particular situation.

There were two of them, _gadjos_ as Peter would say; one was older and dark-haired, with a sailor's hat and full beard that Mike probably envied. The other, the younger one, was fairer than his companion, with reddish-blond hair that was scuffed into an odd-looking cowlick. A small white terrier followed the pair, cautiously investigating the air around him, and in front of the whole party was....

"Miarka!"

"Mama!"

Ana ran forward to embrace her daughter, and I slipped out of the woods to join them. As I approached, I could hear the older man describing how they came across my mischievous niece, followed by one of Lucia's insistent offers of divination. Still clutching Miarka tightly, Ana beamed at me as I stepped into the small circle that had formed around the strangers. Lucia was in fine form, as usual; the older stranger was transfixed by her "predictions." The younger one, however, caught my eyes with his own, and gave me a friendly smile. His eyes were a clear and unwavering blue, a color I had never seen on a living creature, and, strange as it may sound, I felt something pass through my body like a gust of wind, swift and powerful. It was gone in the next moment though, as Lucia prattled on about jewelry or some such nonsense.

The older man seemed to agree with me, however. "That's enough mumbo-jumbo for one day." He turned to Ana and Miarka to bid the child goodbye. "Take care of that little cherub. But if you take my advice, you'll camp somewhere else, and not on this rubbish dump....In the first place, it's unhealthy...."

At this, Mike stepped forward to defend us, his voice sharp and swollen with anger. "D'you think we're here because we like it? D'you imagine we enjoy living surrounded by filth?"

I missed the stranger's reply as Peter pushed Mike gently aside. He was the voice of reason in the camp, the one who kept a cool head no matter what the situation, a drastic opposite from Lucia, his wife, and her posturing. "Listen, we arrived here yesterday with a sick man, and this was the only place where the police would let us camp." Several of the others muttered and shook their heads, the memory of yesterday's arrival still painfully clear. The stranger seemed moved as well, for he offered us a meadow nearby his house, to the pleasure and surprise of all present, including his companion.

As soon as they left, the camp was set into motion with preparations for leaving. Wagons were repacked, horses untethered, children gathered. Peter waved to me, and I met him and Mike next to the wagon he shared with Lucia. "Mike and I must get the others ready. Mira, I want you to ride ahead on Felix and see if you can't find this place the _gadjo_ mentioned, to see if he was truthful with us. If so, wait and we will meet you there. If not, we will meet you on the road, and leave this village."

"Come back straightaway if it doesn't feel right; don't take any chances with them, Mira," Mike said, his eyes narrowed. "I don't care what you say, father; it is impossible to trust men like that."

Peter regarded his son thoughtfully. "Perhaps so. Perhaps not. Mira will soon find out for us."

***

Soon enough, Felix and I were cantering over the lush grasses around Marlinspike Hall, though I took great pains to remain far from the house proper. I caught a brief glimpse of it-large, marbled and dull-and even with my untrained eye I could see that it was built not only with stone and mortar, but with wealth and power. I was much more interested in the meadow the stranger had spoken of, and angled Felix away from the house towards a more wooded area. We slowed to a walk amidst the trees, where a sudden movement in a rhododendron bush caught my eye. "Hello?" I called out, not wanting to be accused of trespassing by an unknowing gardener. But the rhododendrons remained still, and I turned Felix towards a thinning of the tree line.

Soon enough, we approached a grassy field with a stream at its center. The grass was a rich, velvety color, the warm air was sweet with the scent of roses and cool water. Even Felix seemed to show his approval with a snort and a toss of his mane. _Mike will be disappointed, _I thought, guiding Felix across the meadow as we waited for the others. _The _gadjos_ proved to be trustworthy after all._

We did not wait long. Soon enough I could hear the familiar sounds of home and family: the creak of wooden wheels that constantly needed greasing, the clattering of pots and pans not fastened down securely, and the calling and chatter of almost everyone I had ever loved; in the lead was the young stranger, his white dog barely visible in the tall grass. Feeling a rush of recklessness, I nudged Felix into a swift trot, and approached the stranger, who watched us with interest. He smiled at me again as we reached the group, and gave a small wave.

"That's a beautiful horse," he remarked, lifting his palm for Felix to snuff. "I've never seen a paint with such vivid markings."

"This is Felix," I replied, glancing down at the little dog tentatively sniffing Felix's knee. I raised my eyes to the stranger, who met my gaze with his own.

"Who are you?" he said after a moment's hesitation. For the first time, he seemed almost as young as he looked-not that I can say much on that score, me being only 19-and I felt that same, strange sensation as we looked at each other. But I am Rom, full of stubborn pride, and my heritage got the better of me. I lifted my chin and straightened my spine.

"I am Miranda, or Mira, as my family calls me. Who are you, besides the friend of a wealthy man?"

I regretted the words as soon as they'd left my mouth-which is not unusual for me, mind you-but he did not seem to take offense, instead running his hand down Felix's piebald neck. "I'm Tintin, my dog is Snowy, and I chose my friends based on the strength of their spirit, not the size of their wallet." Though his words were calm, I could feel their edge. He lifted his hand, turned again to me. "It's nice to meet you, Miranda or Mira. I hope...."

"Mira, leave him alone! We need you to help with the children." Peter's voice startled me out of the moment, and I turned Felix and slipped into the commotion of the camp without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two-May 18**

Sometimes it seems that all life consists of the mechanics of the mundane. I've heard that there are poems and songs that glamorize the Gypsy lifestyle, that there are tales of the magic and wonders of the _lungo drom_, the road that has no end. The reality is almost too boring to recount, and my mind grows weary of dwelling on the perpetual cycle of cooking and cleaning and caring for children. Suffice it to say that I was elated two days after we arrived at Marlinspike, when Tintin returned to our camp to check in. Most of the others hung back, unwilling to show too much interest in the _gadjo_, but I was not one of them. I had spoken to very few non-Romany people in my life, and decided that I was eager to learn all that I could about this stranger.

He was speaking with Peter on the edge of the circle of the _tabor_, the wagon train that housed everyone in our family. Not wanting to Peter to realize my intentions, I led Felix next to them on the pretense of taking him to the creek to be watered. The headman glanced our way as we passed, but said nothing to me, instead shaking his head to the stranger.

"No. We need nothing from the village, and if we did, we'd get it ourselves. We Rom take care of our own. I hope that you can understand, _gadjo._"

"I certainly can," Tintin replied evenly. "I was just checking, since I'm going anyway to fetch the Captain's wheelchair." With that he and the little dog turned back for the house, and I continued to lead Felix. At this point, I was unsure as to what to do; I was eager to speak more with the stranger, but the customs of my people are very strict when it comes to mingling with those who are foreign to us. I cast a furtive glance back at Peter, who was already absorbed into the _tabor_, and my mind was made up. The moment I was out of sight of the camp, I swung myself onto Felix's back and urged him on towards the house. There! The stranger was lingering at the edge of the garden, as though fascinated by a blooming rosebush. I slowed Felix to a walk, and halted beside the bright crimson flowers.

"Hello again, Miranda called Mira," he said. Felix lowered his head to nose at the little dog, who sniffed back just as cautiously, his tail moving slowly into a wag.

"Hello, Tintin," I replied, feeling some of my bravado slip away so close to the intimidating house. The roses were in bloom, and the scent was heady, almost overpowering in the heat of the afternoon. We stood for a moment in silence before he spoke again; his words sounding like he had thought carefully about what he was going to say-which is usually not something that I manage to do.

"I'm going to the village, as you may have heard. Your headman said that your _tabor _didn't need any supplies-but if you would like anything, I can bring it back for you. Unless you think that Felix might like to stretch his legs?"

A thrill shot through me at the idea of going off with a _gadjo_, unaccompanied by anyone in my family. _And why not?_ I thought, _It's not as if a little thing like this could add to my pollution_."Actually," I said primly, "I was going to offer you the pleasure of my company for such a journey. Also, Ana mentioned that she could use some....sugar." I was not sure where the lie had come from; my sister had never said anything of the kind, and I had no money on me anyway. But even so, I could not bring myself to say otherwise, and when he smiled at me again, well.....

I am not so strong, after all.

We set off down the long driveway that lead up to the Hall, me on Felix, the stranger on foot with his little white dog trotting ahead. I wondered if he would dare to ask for a ride, which he didn't, instead he asked about Miarka.

"Yes, she's my niece. My sister Ana has her hands full with Miarka and her brother, Tomas, especially with Rumen being so ill."

"Is he the reason the police would not allow you to camp anywhere but the rubbish dump?"

We passed the front gate and began to walk on the curving dirt road that lead to the village. I smoothed down a stray hair on Felix's mane as I replied. "One of the reasons, I suppose. We're not very popular wherever we go, though that may come as a shock to a _gadjo_ like you." At this he turned to me in surprise, then chuckled when he saw my grin. "Enough about my boring life. What about you? Why does your rich friend need a chair with wheels? He seemed as though he could walk fine the other day."

"The Captain's had a bit of bad luck lately," he replied with a sigh. "He has a nasty sprain, and can't even stand on his own. Unless I bring the chair for him, he'll be trapped indoors until he's healed." I felt my skin crawl with the mention of being trapped, and gave an involuntary shiver. We walked for a few moments in silence before he spoke again. "Which do you prefer? Mira, or Miranda?"

"Only my family can call me Mira," I said immediately, and he shook his head.

"Yes, but which name do you want to be known by?"

It was an odd question, and I found myself having to think for a moment. "Actually, I think I like my full name better. It was the name that my parents gave me, so I suppose it is special." I scowled as I felt my cheeks redden, and so reacted as I always did. "What kind of name is Tintin, anyway? Is it a nickname as well?"

At this he laughed. "Of a sort. It's not the name I was given as a child, it's a name I gave myself after I left the orphanage. A new name, a new beginning."

The road curved again, and ahead I could make out the tips of the church spires that signaled the edge of the village. Something he had said perplexed me, and I turned it over in my mind a few times before asking. "I've never heard of an orphanage....it sounds unpleasant."

"The one I grew up in was, though I'm told that most of them are better. It's a place where children are sent to live who have no parents to care for them." As he spoke, his gaze seemed to follow a different road than the one we walked on, one that was not visible to any but himself.

I furrowed my brow. The concept was truly foreign to me, and I winced inwardly at the idea of being alone in the world. "But what of the rest of your family? Did you not have any aunts or uncles willing to take you in?"

"None at the time," was all he said on that score, and we walked for a few minutes in silence before I spoke again.

"Is it large?" He looked perplexed, and I laughed. "The village, is it a large one?"

"Not really," he replied, picking up a stick to toss to Snowy. His throw was strong; the little dog dashed off to chase it down. "Sometimes it gets a little crowded with tourists and such, but usually it's quiet. Where is your family coming from, now?"

"North, near the coast," I said. "Peter has a great love of the sea, so we spend a lot of time there." The memory of salt air and the crash of waves filled my mind. "I like it, too." We walked in silence a while longer, as Tintin and Snowy continued their game of fetch. A thought occurred to me. "Is there a record store, in your village?"

"Not that I've seen. Sometimes the general store will have a few records for sale, but for a really good selection, you need to go to Brussels." He regarded me. "How do you listen to records on the road?"

I shook my head. "I don't. But the stores usually have a place to listen to music before you buy it, so sometimes I like to just listen for a while-I pay them for it, mind you-but I can't really drag a record player around with me, though I wish that I could. I want to be a musician, one day."

He smiled. "That's wonderful! What do you play?"

"Guitar, mostly, though I can find my way around a violin as well. My father was very musical, and taught me everything he knew, before...."

"Ah," he said, looking at his feet. "Before he died?"

"How did you know?"

"I could hear it in your voice," he replied. "You sounded, well, like someone who had lost her father."

"It was the flu," I said after a moment. "Him and my mother, a week apart. About five years ago, now."

"I'm sorry." He was silent for a minute or so. "My parents are gone, too. Though I don't really remember them."

"It still hurts," I said, looking down at my hands but seeing my mother's smile in my mind's eye. "I don't think it will ever stop hurting."

"I know." he replied, and we made the rest of the trip in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three-May 18 (same day)**

It was busy in the little village today, so much so, in fact, that nobody official had time to come and tell me that I could not leave Felix tied outside the general store, with Snowy curled up beneath his hooves. I dismounted easily, not realizing until I was again earthbound that Tintin had been offering his hand. We stepped through the doors and into a proverbial mob of people; a jostling, pushing, suffocating mass of customers that seemed to shrink away at the very sight of me. The feeling never changes: embarrassment churning with anger, over my own furious blushing as much as their revulsion. As always in any town like this one, I pushed the feelings away, and tried to think of something else.

"Is it always this busy here?" I had to practically shout in Tintin's ear to make myself heard amidst the incredible din.

"No, it's just busy today," he said, trying to see over the heads of other customers. "I think that the store is having a special or something." It was useless to correct him, and I let the remark pass in favor of trying to follow his gaze.

Sure enough, there was a part in the crowd that revealed a large table covered in delicious looking pastries, with a large sign proclaiming a "buy one get one free" sale. My stomach rumbled, and I realized that I hadn't had anything to eat since lunch yesterday. But my pockets were silent, without the jingling of coins, and I remained still, wondering if we would just move on. Tintin said nothing in the din, he simply looked at me, looked at the table, and launched himself through the mass, leaving me alone with my mouth agape. The crowds merged again, and I lost sight of him until he was back at my side, a small package in his hand. He motioned towards the rear of the store, and we made our way through the press of people.

At last we reached the farthest point away from the hubbub, and he handed me the package. I could hardly contain my delight; inside were two doughnuts, warm and rich and covered in chocolate. My hands itched to take them, and my stomach offered another sharp growl as if to remind me of my hunger, but I could not accept such a gift. It would not be seemly, and it took every bit of self control I had to turn them away. Even for one with my past, it would have been too much for me to take this, too far for me to go. I shook my head, lowered my eyes, expecting him to turn away in anger and leave me alone in the press of people.

Confusion crossed over his face, but he shrugged and motioned me on, until we stopped next to a shelf and he stood expectantly. I realized that we were next to the sugar I'd said Ana needed, and of course I had no intention of buying any. I felt flushed and overly warm, embarrassed to have let the situation advance to this point. A strange queasy feeling began to overtake me, and I opened my mouth to try to convey some of this when a very large, very well-dressed man knocked into me so hard I fell to my knees.

"Watch your step, stupid gypsy wench," he snarled, stepping on my skirts. His well-shod foot hadn't touched the ground for a second when Tintin roughly hauled him aside.

"Watch your own step, you Armani airbag," he said sharply, and pushed the offending man away into the crowd before bending to help me up. The crowd in the shop seemed to be thinning, and before I realized it, I had accepted Tintin's hand, and was on my feet. He took my hand and led me outside, back to Felix and Snowy who were waiting patiently for their errant humans. The din receded, so I found myself able to breathe a little easier, and the queasy feeling was beginning to abate. In another moment we were sitting on the ground, Tintin offering me a cup of water he'd gotten somewhere along the way, and I felt my head clearing a little more with each sip. The water was a good idea.

"Feeling better? You looked a little pale back there."

I nodded, and sipped the water again, savoring the way it trickled down my throat into my stomach, which then let out a growl of protest. I grimaced, and murmured some nicety.

He looked mildly amused, but made no remark. Instead, he asked when I'd eaten last, and when I told him, he seemed truly shocked. "Do you mind waiting here? I'll just be a minute fetching the Captain's chair and then we can get something to eat."

I wanted to protest, but he was gone the next moment, leaving Snowy to lie down beside me and heave a great sigh. He'd also left the bag of doughnuts, which I decided that I may as well devour at my stomach's behest. As I was licking the chocolate off of my fingers, I heard Mike's voice-so clearly it was as if he was standing next to me. _Come on, she's probably in the village_. Dread coursed through me, my earlier bravado forgotten. If they found me here, alone in town.....well, it wouldn't be as bad as it would be if they knew who I'd come with, but it would be bad enough.

With that the decision was made. I rose to mount Felix, then, after a thought, bent to the little dog. I removed my kerchief-my best one, mind you, with dark purple swirls that made even my dull brown eyes look plum-and tied it about the dog's neck. "So he doesn't think I left because....well, just because." Onto Felix's back, and we were gone.

***

The journey back was made longer and more complicated because I had no idea how Mike was traveling. On foot, most likely-it's not like he thought I'd try to run away-but with him I could never be sure. Anyway, about three-quarters of an hour later, after many switchbacks and circles, we made it to the rear of the park, where I'd noticed a small breach in the wall-an easy jump for Felix-and soon we were in the rear part of the meadow, out of sight of the _tabor_ as well as the house. Relieved, I dismounted, letting Felix graze and my thoughts wander as I stood by the creek.

"They say you never step into the same river twice," Tintin was standing there as though he'd never left my side. In my surprise, I jumped back, slipped and began to fall backwards. He made a grab for my hand, but he missed, and we both wound up sitting chest deep in the cold, flowing water.

I turned to glare at him. "Next time, just let me take your word for it." At that, I couldn't prevent a smile from slipping across my face, and soon we had collapsed into mirth. Finally, we helped each other out of the water, coming to rest on a few smooth boulders at the creek's edge. As we began to wring out our clothing, he spoke.

"But would you? Take my word as truth? Do you think that you could ever bring yourself to trust a _gadjo_?"

The questions caught me off guard, and I thought for a moment as I twisted my long dark hair into a rope, the water running down my hands and arms. "Perhaps. You aren't like anyone that I've ever met, though I don't know you very well." I looked at him, his wet hair was almost coppery in the sunlight. _A good omen_, I thought at once, but shook the idea away in the next moment._ For all the good that it would do. "_I would like to feel that I can trust you," I said at last. "I think you and I could become friends....if things were different."

He nodded slowly, seemingly lost in thought until he spoke again. "Very well. Miranda, you have given me your name, so I shall give you mine. Only one other person alive in this world knows it, it is an act of trust for me to pass it on to you." He did not add, _so that maybe one day you will trust me as well._ He motioned me close, and whispered in my ear. Afterwards, I looked at him with different eyes.

"It doesn't suit you."

At this he laughed again and we stood together, more or less dry....well, less for me. That's one of the troubles of wearing skirts: they hold moisture like Lucia clutching her dratted silver. I glanced at the direction of the _tabor_. "I should get back. They'll probably be worried."

He looked me up and down, concern etched on his face. "Will you get in trouble for being sopping wet?"

I shook my head. "If anything, they'll joke that I was being lazy by trying to wash my clothes and myself at the same time."

"I want to see you again, Miranda," he said suddenly.

"It probably will not be as easy next time for me to get away for so long."

"Then I'll come to you. I'll come to the camp-tomorrow perhaps, or the next day."

I glared at him a little. "Why are you so insistent to spend your time with a sodden gypsy wench? Don't you have rich ladies lining up outside your door to court?"

He chuckled softly at my jibe, and I was glad that he seemed to be able to keep up with my sense of humor, which I have been told is very odd.

"Farewell, Miranda. I shall see you soon."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four-May 20**

Two long days passed before I saw Tintin again. In the meantime, I was punished for disappearing without warning by being forced to launder not only all the dirty clothes, but the blankets and towels as well, in addition to helping Lucia collect herbs for her medicines-a task Peter knew I detested. That's the main problem with family-they know you too well. Though none of them could prove I'd gone to the village, Peter said that he "could see it in my eyes," which was apparently enough to condemn me. The fact that I did not plead my innocence also spoke volumes; anyway, two days and two tired, itchy hands later I met Tintin again.

It was rather impromptu; a soft bark behind a bush revealed Snowy, my kerchief tied around his neck. I was carrying another load of laundry from the stream, and after a cautious glance around me, I slipped off into the woods to follow the little white dog. He led me to a section of the garden I'd never seen; a statue of a man in a long robe seated cross-legged on a flower was surrounded by soft grass, and a cedar bench rested before him. Tintin was there, gazing at the statue contemplatively, and he nearly jumped as Snowy gave a short bark to herald our approach.

He rose to greet me, and for a moment we were awkward and bumbling; finally I stuck my hand out, and he shook it firmly, holding it perhaps a moment too long. I sat on the bench, and he joined me.

"Who is this?" I asked, running my eyes over the statue with appreciation. It was very finely made, crafted of a pure white stone that added to the feel of tranquility that the man's face seemed to exude.

"This is Gautama Buddha, the first person to reach nirvana-the state of pure being."

I must have given him a blank look, for he tried to explain further. "He reached ultimate non-attachment to earthly objects, as well as emotions like fear and greed, and by doing so cleared the way for everyone on our earth to do the same-to be truly at peace. Even when he had the ability to go to nirvana-or heaven, I suppose you could say-he did not. He chose to remain on earth, and help others reach nirvana instead. Those that follow his path are called 'Buddhists.'"

I was silent for a moment, absorbing all of this. "Are you a follower, then?"

"I appreciate many of the values that Buddhism holds, but I don't subscribe to any particular faith anymore."

I looked at the statue again, and slipped off of the bench to reach out to the smooth marble cheek. It was cool against my palm, and I gently ran my hand down the length of his face, admiring the craftsmanship. I wanted to ask how much he'd gotten it for, but something made me stop. I turned back to Tintin. "He reminds me of you-so calm and collected. Even when you shouted at that _gadjo_ in the village, you seemed so steady. Usually my family is like a beehive: always in motion and very loud....That reminds me, what does 'Armani airbag' mean?"

"It means I've lived with Captain Haddock for a long time," he grinned as he scratched behind Snowy's ears. "I know I look young," he continued quietly, "but I've done a lot, and seen more. Gautama Buddha reminds me....that there is still good in the world, even if it seems like it only resides in my thoughts. Until now, anyway." He slid carefully to the ground next to me. "Thank you for coming, by the way. I'm sorry for summoning you like that, but Mike was rather insistent that I not 'trouble' anyone in camp today. By the way, how is Miarka's father?"

"Getting better. Juggles has been keeping him company while Ana cares for the children."

"Juggles?"

"Rumen has a....great love of animals. Juggles is a chimp that he bought off of a circus man about three years ago. He's very sweet...." I paused, loathe to say anything negative about Rumen's beloved pet. "He's just a little wild. When he's caged, he's fine. But let him loose," I made a motion with my hands. "Juggles can be a force of nature when he puts his mind to it-he's gotten Rumen into more than one scrape with his antics." I looked up suddenly.

Tintin watched me curiously. "What's wrong?"

"I think they're starting to miss me,"

"How can you tell? I didn't hear anything, did you?"

I nodded at first, then sighed. "Sort of. Well, no, it's not like that. But sometimes, I _know_ things. I can't tell fortunes, like Lucia tries to, and I can't actually _see_ what's going to happen, I just know, somehow. Sometimes I hear something, or see something, and I just _know_." I related my reason for fleeing the village the other day, then shook my head in frustration and began to get to my feet. Tintin rose as well, and we stood awkwardly for a moment before I could bring myself to step away. "Thank you for....the other day, in town...." The words did not want to leave my mouth, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, Miranda, but I'm not sure I can stop seeing you." He looked uneasy. "That's definitely not a healthy combination, but I feel....I feel as though I already know you from somewhere.....long ago, another life perhaps." I raised my eyebrows, and it was his turn to sigh in frustration. "What about you? What are you thinking there, behind those dark eyes?"

I made no reply, instead I did the boldest and stupidest thing I have ever done. I kissed him on the mouth, hard and quickly, then grabbed my laundry and bolted like a rabbit. As I scurried off, I called over my shoulder. "I'll come to you next time."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five-May 22 **

All night the Hall had been buzzing with strange cars and people, and several of the others were agitated, even though none of the_gadjos_ bothered our camp. I, meanwhile, had managed to secure a few hours of free time, and was trying to formulate a plan with very little success. I did not know the grounds like he did, and did not know the house at all. The planning turned out to be for naught once the evening chores had been completed, and I was called to play and sing by the bonfire.

I should explain something here; despite the ideas that most people have about all Romany, music is not a talent that runs in my particular family, however easily it comes to me now, and came to my father before me. He was a skilled musician and my most precious possession was, and still is, his favorite guitar, a lovely thing of maple and rosewood, crafted by his grandfather. It was he who taught me to play and sing, and he who often encouraged me in my own songwriting. Most others in our _tabor _have little ability to carry a tune, much less play an instrument with any skill. However, it seems to be my one (and only, according to Lucia) talent, and so I was often called to entertain all night, which was the case on this particular night until Mike stepped in to give me a break. I slipped off to relieve myself, and on my way back, I spied the very person whom I'd been planning to sneak away to see. It was perfect: everyone was too distracted to care about me, and I made up my mind in an instant.

Tintin and Snowy had paused to listen to Mike play a simple, but pretty tune, and I felt a stab of regret that he had missed my one talent at work. Still, I am a Roma, which means that I am nothing if not opportunistic.

"Hello there_, gadjo_," I said after he had turned to walk back to the house. It was his turn to jump, and then laugh as I slipped out of the darkness.

"Miranda! I didn't even see you there," he said, taking my hand and squeezing it gently.

I grinned. "If I had wanted you to see me, you would have." We began to walk towards the garden, and he told me of the trouble at the great manor.

"If I were you, I'd warn everyone to keep away from the house-those jewels are certain to cause trouble sooner or later, and I'd hate to see you-or your family-get caught up in anything like that." The moonlight bathed the tops of all the leaves in silver, the darkness covered their undersides like velvet, and the garden path was long and winding beneath our feet. A breeze, cooler than it should have been for so late in May, lifted my hair around my face, and I stopped to move it aside.

"You don't have to worry about me," I said quietly, looking at him. "Believe it or not, I'm actually pretty good at keeping out of trouble; at least, I am now."

"What do you mean?"

I sighed. "Tintin, you trusted me with your name, now I shall share something with you. When I was fourteen, I was betrothed to a young man from another _tabor, _a man whose older brother later abducted me....and...." To my disgust, tears came to my eyes, and I turned away from him to collect myself. As though he could tell what was coming, Tintin gave me my space, only touching my arm to guide me to a bench. "According to our tradition, we would have been as good as married, but he was already wed; he abandoned me a few days later, and I was forced to return home, _mahrime_."

He nodded slowly. "'Unclean,' yes, I know. I've been reading up a bit on Romani cultures and habits," he explained to my surprised expression.

"That is why it is not such a forbidden thing for me to walk about unaccompanied by a member of my family," I continued. "In their eyes, I am....damaged. But if this goes on," I gestured around us: the moonlight, the garden, our bodies sitting so close together. "Even one such as me will never be permitted to throw her life away on a _gadjo,_ and I cannot think that the road we are traveling can bring us any lasting joy, Tintin." I closed my eyes, for once not angry as I felt tears once again prick my lids. "But even so, I cannot stop traveling."

He said nothing, only slipped an arm around my shoulder. He was warm, and I relaxed into the curve of his arm; it is always comforting for me to be close to another person. Almost every night of my life I had slept next to my family, listening to their breath in the darkness. We sat this way for some time before we both realized that it was late, and time to part ways. Tintin walked me back to the edge of the meadow and took my hands once more in his own. His eyes fixed on mine, and his voice was steady and strong.

"I promise you, Miranda, I will do everything I can to give this-" he held up our hands- "a chance-but only if you help me. I can't do it without you, nor would I want to."

I was speechless, and could only nod dumbly, and after another swift kiss it was his turn to vanish into the night.

I stood alone for a moment before heading back to the _tabor_, and was able to slip in and sit next to Ana unnoticed. Mike had been joined by Peter on the viola, and they were engrossed in a slow, mournful tune. Ana put her arm around me, and I leaned my head against hers, letting the music wash over me. My lids began to close, and I started to drift off. Thoughts of Tintin flitted through my mind: the coppery glint of his hair in the sunlight the day in the creek; the sudden hush of a crowd as he defended me in the village, and the cool, smooth stone statue beneath my palm while his eyes were focused on me.

"Come on, Mira, help me put the young ones to bed, then you can sleep." My sister's voice roused me from the edge of dreaming, so I stood up with her. We made our quiet good nights to the others, then began to lead the children back towards the wagon we all shared. Rumen and Juggles were both fast asleep, and soon the my niece and nephew were following his example. Ana and I had to share a bed since her husband was ill, so we lay next to each other, talking quietly of inconsequential things. After a few minutes, she was silent, and I thought that she had fallen asleep until her voice rose suddenly in the darkness.

"Mira, I don't think that you've made a good choice. I'm not sure why you made it, or what you're going to do about it, but I'm afraid that you are going to regret it."

_She knows me far too well, _ I thought, opening my mouth to protest, "You don't understand, Ana, I'm not like you. I can never be like you." I put my hand on her stomach, where I knew another child was beginning to grow. "Your path is not the one for me, I just know it."

I felt, rather than heard Ana's low chuckle. "Don't worry, _cheya_, I'm not going to stop you. I just want you to know that, despite all my misgivings, I hope it works out for you, if it's truly what you want...." Her voice faded away, for certain this time, and I was left alone in the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six-May 26 **

I had not been awake for five minutes when Miarka spilled scalding coffee all over my dress. Before my sister could reprimand her, she bolted off into the woods, heedless of Ana's cries of protest. Her brother, Tomas, in an effort to make up for his sister's accident, decided that I must be doused with cold water to clean my garments. Hardly out of bed, I was soaking wet and sticky all at once, and glared at Rumen and Juggles as I stalked passed their wagon.

"You need to hurry up and get back on your feet, Rumen," I grumbled as I made my way towards the creek. "Ana can't keep those two hellions under control." Rumen made no reply, though he grinned broadly as Juggles saluted me by sticking out his tongue.

I followed a path down to the edge of the creek, past a curve so that some amount of privacy was offered. It was not until I began to strip down did I remember that I'd left all of my clean clothes at the camp, and I chided myself. Just as I'd turned back, Mike appeared, peering around tentatively and carrying a small satchel. He spotted me and waved in greeting. I lifted my hand, and we met beside the creek.

"Here," he said, thrusting the satchel in my direction. "Your sister told me you left your clothes." His voice was light, but I could tell by the set of his mouth that he was displeased, but in my present state, I couldn't have cared less.

I thanked him, and turned to leave, but he caught my arm and firmly turned me to him as though I were no more than a child. For all my nerve, I seem to be cursed forever with a slight frame. Mike met my eyes and looked at me for a few, uncomfortable moments. Despite knowing him as long as I had, I saw something in his gaze that I had not seen before. And my own eyes, betrayers that they are, must have revealed something of my hidden heart, for he began to frown as he regarded me.

"Lucia said that she saw you with that _gadjo_ the other day-and I heard some of the others whisper about the same thing a few days earlier." His voice dropped in volume, as well as timbre. "What is going on, Mira? Is he trying to.....does he realize your....position?"

It was my turn to glare at _him_. "I don't know what you mean, Michelangelo. He lives on this property, I cannot control where he travels. And in any case, it is no concern of yours; I am _not_ your wife. I am not beholden to you." I raised my chin, and was thankful that my voice had not wavered.

Mike shook his head. "Peter spoils you, Mira. Ana indulges you. _When_ you are my wife, that will all end." He chuckled at my expression. "We both knew this was coming. Don't flatter yourself on being an actress, Mira. But go ahead, enjoy your childish infatuation. Soon we'll be gone, and he will forget about you. As all the _gadjos_ turn their eyes away from us."

I hadn't yet taken the satchel, so he dropped it at my feet, and left.

I'm not sure how long I stood there like a fool before I managed to shake my head to clear out Mike's words. _What's gotten into him?_ I know that I stood there long enough for my dress to dry, and for the sun to creep up farther into the sky, but not for anyone to come looking for me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered Ana saying something about a trip to town, which might keep her, Peter, and a few of the others out of the camp for a few the better part of the day. I smoothed my hands over my ragged dress, a new thought formulating in my mind. I felt rebellious and daring, and soon I had decided on a path to take; before I realized it, I was heading towards the imposing house.

Of course, I lost my nerve as I approached the hall.....it was just so _big_. Standing so close to it made me feel like an insect, and I stood in the midst of some rosebushes, worrying the edges of my shirt.

"Hello there, young lady!" An unfamiliar voice made me jump. A small, bearded man wearing gloves and carrying a set of pruning shears-I guessed that he was the gardener-was smiling as he approached. I smiled back warily, silently cursing my stupidity. _ All I need now is to have him accuse me of plotting a robbery or something._ He stopped at the rosebushes that I was standing in, and began to clip away at the undesirable elements of the plant, chatting to me as he did so as though we were two friends who met on the street.

"Lovely, aren't they, my girl?"

I assumed he meant the roses, so I nodded mutely, and cupped my hands around a particularly vibrant specimen "I've never seen any so fine, sir." I said after a moment, using my most polite voice. "You must work very hard to keep them so well."

He chuckled, and nodded. "Indeed, yes; they require the most attentive care, but I think it's worth it. Nothing in life that is worth having comes easily, you know, my dear."

I had no response to that at first, I just fingered the velvety petals silently. But soon a question had sprung to my lips. "But what if the others who lived here didn't like them? What if they wanted you to grow....dahlias instead? Would you, or would you still work so hard for the roses?"

He paused for a moment, considering my words. "Yes, I believe I would: I love these flowers. They make me appreciate the true beauty that is the mystery of life itself. I could never truly give them up."

I smiled, but did not comment further. Instead, I asked him if he needed any help, and soon I was carefully pruning some of the lower branches. We continued talking, and I found that I was enjoying the work-or perhaps it was the distraction. Anyway, I was startled by Snowy's barking right in my ear, and scrambled to my feet in a haste when I noticed that his master had was with him, regarding me with a perplexed expression. I brushed the stray leaves and rose petals off of my dress, and tried to smile as though nothing was weighing heavily in my heart.

But the heaviness faded away in a moment as he smiled at me once more, and I felt that singular shiver over my skin again as I stepped away from the roses. "Hello, Miranda," he said, taking my hand warmly. "Is everything alright? I wasn't sure if you'd want to come here...."

"I know," I replied. "I just..." A prickle on the back of my neck made me glance around dubiously. I was certain that they would be looking for me at some point, and, despite my bravado in coming to the great house, I did not think that I was ready to face Peter on this particular matter. "Your gardener was showing me his roses," I finished lamely.

Tintin seemed to sense my hesitation and nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. "They are lovely, aren't they? But he's actually not our gardener-this is my friend, Professor Cuthbert Calculus. Professor, this is Miranda Vadoma."

My face reddened, and I glanced at the older man in chagrin. "My apologies, sir."

The Professor laughed and shook his head. "Of course, of course! Nothing would be better! I'll tell Nestor to add another setting to the table." He gathered his equipment and began to walk towards the house, whistling jauntily.

I turned to Tintin, confused. "Is he..."

"A bit hard of hearing? Yes, though he won't admit it," Tintin said with a chuckle. "Though, I am curious; you two seemed to be having a....conversation. That's a bit unusual for the Professor." I raised my eyebrows, and he shrugged, shaking his head. "Do you want to see the house? It's quiet right now-though however long that may last, I can't be sure."

I looked up at the huge manor, and felt, for the first time curious rather than fearful of the edifice. I nodded, then touched Tintin's arm as we began to walk. "Your friend said something about setting the table? Is that the _gadjo_ way of inviting me to dinner?"

Tintin chuckled and shrugged. "If you'd like to stay, I'd be delighted. We don't have to eat with the others if you'd like....or at all, if you can't stay that long," he added, seeing my face. "Miranda, I'd never ask you to do anything that you weren't comfortable with."

I nodded, and took his hand as we approached the house. "I know."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven-May 26 (same day)**

Most of my life has been spent outdoors, like the majority of my people. There are those of us who decide, for whatever reason, to stop traveling the long road, and take up a permanent residence somewhere, but most of the Rom, (that I know of), live in wagons or caravans as we do. That being said, I could see the appeal of living with a roof over one's head: no rain on your clothes, no mud on your skirts, warmth in the winter and a cold place to store your food to prevent illness. Of all of the things that Tintin showed me, initially I was most intrigued with the kitchen and the bathroom. It wasn't as if I'd never heard of indoor plumbing, it was just that it was not a regular facet of my daily life. The idea of having constant running water seemed like a luxury, and I fantasized what it would be like to not have to bathe in a freezing river anymore.

"Come, let me show you my favorite room," Tintin said as I again twisted the water faucets. I followed him down a long carpeted corridor, my neck straining to see everything. We came to a large room, well lit with a beautiful view of the grounds surrounding the house. I approached the massive window that dominated the far wall and peered out: I could make out the long drive that led to the main road on the left, and to the right, barely, I could make out the stream that my family was camped beside. I turned as Tintin came to sit next to me on the padded cushion beneath the window.

"It really is a beautiful place," I said, marveling. "Much better than the town dump."

At that we both laughed, then sat for a few minutes in silence, gazing outside. I looked in the direction of the stream, and wondered if they were searching for me in earnest yet. Often, when I was angry or upset, I would disappear for a little while-a childish habit that I'd never grown out of. Ana and Peter knew me well enough to know that I would come back, eventually. _What's the worst that could happen to her that hasn't happened already? _ Mikey knew me as well, but was never as tolerant of my wandering habits than his father. I knew that my _kumpania_ was rather liberal in its views, but how far would Peter's tolerance stretch before it snapped, like an old rope? A thought flitted through my mind as I studied Tintin covertly. _What if I never came back? What would Peter and Mike do if I stayed away, forever?_ But my next thought was of Ana, and my niece and nephew, and Felix. My heart ached at the thought of leaving them, and I sighed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tintin said quietly.

I smiled sadly. "They probably aren't looking for me-not yet, anyway." I gestured to the rows upon rows of books that covered almost every bit of wall space in the large room. "Aren't you going to show me the rest of your library? That's what this is, right?"

He grinned, and stood, offering me his hand which I accepted readily. "History's here, then biographies, fiction over there, and the Professor's science texts are against that wall."

I wandered across the rows, looking through the volumes, before I found one that looked particularly interesting. I glanced at him questioningly, and he nodded. I pulled the book down, and studied the elaborately wrought, leather-bound cover. "Collected Poems by Rumi. Is that right?"

"Yes. That's actually one of my favorites."

I could hear a question behind his words, and decided to answer it for him. "Peter was very insistent that every member of his family be able to read, even if only a little." I raised my chin. "Not all of us are illiterate, like many_ gadjos _believe."

He seemed chagrined. "I never meant to imply that...."

"I know," I smiled, touching his arm. "There are not many things that I can do well, but reading is one of them." I then began flipping through the book, glancing at the various poems.

"May I?" Tintin asked, reaching for the volume. I handed it over, and he turned to a particular page, and began to read aloud.

_When it's cold and raining,_

_you are more beautiful._

_And the snow brings me_

_even closer to your lips._

_The inner secret, that which was never born,_

_you are that freshness, and I am with you now._

_I can't explain the goings,_

_or the comings. You enter suddenly,_

_and I am nowhere again._

_Inside the majesty._

His gaze lingered on the page for a moment before he looked up at me, carefully, as though he was uncertain of my reaction. He needn't have worried. As I have said, I am not so strong, and am indeed a silly girl, to be swayed so easily by pretty words. I kissed him again. We stood together for a moment before we parted, and he grinned at me; he looked very young and boyish in that moment, and I felt almost giddy with happiness.

"Miranda, I-"

"Captain Badcock, are you in here?" A woman's voice trilled from the doorway, and Tintin and I both nearly jumped out of our skins. "Oh, Tintin. Have you seen my wayward sailor? _Dio mi_! Are you the gypsy, my girl?" The woman was taller than me, but there was considerably more of her, and she was better dressed. Her hair was a color that I did not often see, light blond, and her jewelry was such that it would have made even an honest man like Peter turn his head. Her perfume, though, was rich and strange, and smelled of jasmine and cassis. I was gobsmacked, and glanced at Tintin, a myriad of questions running through my mind. I hadn't given a thought to the other people that lived here; what if they were not as....kind as Tintin? This woman looked me up and down, and I could see the distaste crossing her features.

"I'm sorry, Signora," Tintin said hastily. "We haven't seen the Captain lately. I was just showing my friend our library." He held his arm out to me. "Signora, this is Miranda Vadoma. Miranda, this is my friend Signora Bianca Castafiore."

Unsure of what to do, I smiled broadly and stuck out my hand, as I had seen Peter do on many occasions. The Signora seemed a bit perplexed for a moment, but she took my rough hand in her own smooth one. "M_olto lieto,_ my girl. Any friend of Tintin's is a friend of mine! Though, I must say, that dress does nothing for your figure, dear."

I glanced down at my simple dress-still dirty from my nephew's antic's this morning. I felt my cheeks redden but just shrugged. "Well, I don't have many options, Signora." I replied. She clucked her tongue and turned to Tintin.

"Young man, if you are going to court this girl properly, you'd better start by letting her at least make herself presentable for dinner. Come, child, I have some things that may suit you. No, no, I don't care how much you protest," she said as Tintin and I both began to try to change her mind. "The dear Professor was quite excited that she would be dining with us this evening-I won't hear another word about it."

Before I knew it, she had grabbed my arm and, being stronger than she looked, was leading me down the hall to the most elaborate room that I'd seen yet. She chattered the entire time, in between calling for another woman named Irma and brushing off Tintin's attempts to rescue me. "Irma, clean her up, won't you? I shall find a pretty gown for the child that you can alter."

"Yes madame." Irma's grip was also like a vise as she led me to the immaculate bathroom. Before I knew what was happening, she had stripped me down to my slip and began sluicing warm water over my skin and in my hair. Even a Roma has her limits, and I tried to get away, nearly naked and dripping wet, but Irma stopped me with serene smile. "You may as well relax, child," she said, scrubbing my hair vigorously. "Madame always gets her way in the end, but her heart is in the right place."

I tried to ignore how good it felt to have someone wash my hair for me, and vague memories of my mother came unbidden to my mind. "Where else is her heart supposed to be?" I said.

Irma laughed and bade me duck my head under the faucet. As I did so, she gathered some clean towels from a cupboard beneath the sink. "Madame has a particular weakness for star-crossed lovers. She has been badgering your young man to show us the girl who has stolen his heart-though he has been reluctant to do so. Until now." She helped me dry my hair, then the Signora burst into the room carrying what appeared to be meters of colorful fabric. Soon they had me standing on a chair, arms extended and silently praying that Castafiore wouldn't startle Irma into stabbing me with the needle she was using to alter the dress.

"Tell me my child, what sort of activities does a Gypsy girl such as yourself enjoy? Are you a reader of the cards? I do love a good card trick!"

"No, Signora, I have no talent for such....things." I tried to shift my weight, carefully so as to not make Irma falter. "I prefer music, actually."

"How marvelous! Do you play an instrument, or sing?"

"A bit of both," I replied, "I play guitar, though I'm not very good. I enjoy it though, as does my family."

"Well, we shall have to hear you, sometime, won't we Irma?" The Signora stepped back and ran her eye appraisingly over my form. "Perhaps one day, with a bit of work, we shall hear you at La Scala, hmmm? Rags-to-riches stories are all the rage now you know.....In fact, I know a delightful little school in Milan, run by an old friend, that would love to take on a case such as you."

My ears perked up at this comment. "In Milan? What's it called?"

She adjusted a fold of fabric and murmured something to Irma before replying. "Oh, something about butterflies, I believe...._Mariposa,_ perhaps? Irma will find out for you, after dinner." She smiled at me. "I can just see you now, child, in a gorgeous flamenco costume, seated in the spotlight and playing your little guitar.....such a lovely picture you would make!"

I tried not to smirk too obviously. "It would take a lot of work to make a Gypsy girl fit for the public eye, Signora."

"Madame is right, Miss Vadoma," Irma said. "With some hard work, you never know....."

"After dinner, my child, we shall hear you perform, and then we will make our judgment."

I glanced outside, and saw that the sun was beginning to creep towards the west. Soon it would set, and, if they hadn't yet started, my family would be looking for me. A knot clenched in my stomach, but I pushed it away, and remembered the kiss in the library. _Nothing that's worth having comes easily._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight-May 27 (later....)**

It is a strange thing, fate. I'm certain that more intelligent people than I have speculated on the fickle nature of "destiny," so all I shall add is that it was difficult for me to believe that it was really my own face that looked back at me from the mirror in the Signora's room. My hair, which was usually loose and tangled or thrown into a messy braid, was shiny and smooth, and fell across my shoulders in dark waves. My skin glowed from the bath, and I smelled of flowers, and not of spilled coffee or horse hair. Even my nails had been scrubbed, but none of it was anything next to the dress.

Since the Signora and Irma had basically forced me to wear a garment of their choosing, I had been very insistent in only two things: it must be of a modest cut, and it must not be valuable. They had obliged, and I now found myself clothed in a long, flowing dress with a sloping neckline that made my neck look graceful, and was a rich, amethyst color that suited my complexion. My legs and arms were covered to my satisfaction, and both women assured me that, since the dress was from something called last year's collection, it would not be worth anything now.

"I was annoyed with dear Coco for sending me this in too small a size," the Signora said, nodding at Irma, who was finishing up the hem. "But, Chanel is Chanel, and I could not refuse a friend, anyway. And now, my dear, it suits you, I think. A little more on this side, Irma."

I could not look away from my own reflection. I looked like....well, I can hardly say. Ana would have been quite jealous, and Mike would have been outraged. That alone made me smile. "Signora, I cannot thank you enough....and you too, Irma."

"Nonsense, child," the singer trilled. "Nothing could make me happier than to watch dear Tintin's face when he sees you like this."

"You're welcome, Miss Vadoma," Irma said, rising to survey her handiwork.

I gave an experimental twirl, and the dress flowed around me like a flower. Beaming at my reflection, I said, "Irma, please just call me Miranda. 'Miss' is far too formal for a someone like me."

At that moment, a gentle knock sounded at the door. Irma rose to answer it, and I listened as she spoke in quiet tones with an unfamiliar male voice. She came back into the room and bowed slightly to the Signora. "Madame, Nestor has informed me that dinner is ready."

Fear clutched at my stomach at the mention of the impending meal, and it must have showed on my face, because Irma smiled, and patted my arm gently.

"Nestor told me to say that your young man asked to escort you to the table, if you'd like."

I nodded silently, not trusting my voice. This entire day was becoming increasingly surreal, as if I was lost in a dream, in another life, filled with fine dresses and escorts to dinner. Nights I had spent by the campfire, eating thick, meaty stew and arguing with Lucia seemed very far away as I stood in the luxurious room, gazing at myself in the mirror.

There was another knock at the door, interrupting my further musings, and Tintin's voice called out, asking for me. The three of us grinned at each other for a moment before the Signora sashayed to the door.

"Come in, and see my handiwork, young man. This is what a young woman ought to look like:_ belissimo!"_

As shocked as I had been to see my own reflection, I think that Tintin was more so. He stood and gaped at me for a few moments before snapping out of it, and coming to take my hands. "Signora, Irma," he said, his eyes not leaving my face. "You have outdone yourselves. Miranda, you look, you look...."

"Not bad once you clean all of the old coffee and horse hair off, right?" I laughed, hoping to ease my own nerves with a joke.

He shook his head. "I was going to say, absolutely stunning. And I never noticed the horse hair." The last part was said in a whisper as he began to lead me out of the room. "We'll see you down there, Signora."

"Thank you both, again," I said, grinning at the two women. "Signora, I'll return the dress to you after dinner."

"Nonsense, child," the singer shook her head. "I won't hear of it. I have no use for that dress-consider it an early betrothal gift."

"Thanks, Signora!" Tintin's voice sounded a bit rushed and nervous as we hurried out the door. As soon as it closed, I erupted into a fit of giggles, and had to clap my hand over my mouth as we walked down the long hall.

"Did she say 'betrothal gift?'" I asked as soon as I caught my breath.

Tintin winced. "That's what I heard as well. I never said anything to her about.....she's just teasing, I think." He thought for a moment. "Not that I would object....but...." He caught my curious expression and snapped his mouth shut. "I'd better stop talking before I make things any worse."

"Well, I'm an expert at that," I replied, nudging his shoulder with my own. "Usually it's my mouth that gets me into trouble. Ana's always telling me to think before I speak, but I can never do it fast enough, and the words come rushing out anyway." I realized that I was babbling, but could not stop. I found that I did not want to stop talking to him. "So, just to make certain, you do like the dress?"

He stopped, and extended his arm, and I managed to twirl slightly, letting the fabric unfurl and then settle around my body lightly. He gazed at me in a way that I had never known; it seemed as though he just couldn't stop. Seemingly on an impulse, he pulled me back to him, and held me close, surprisingly strong for one of so slight a frame. I pressed myself to him, blood pounding in my ears, and all thoughts of the people and places beyond this present, immediate one, faded from my mind with the kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine-May 27 (a few minutes later...)**

The entire evening was turning into a living, waking dream. Tintin escorted me to a massive room, furnished with artifacts and antiques; no doubt relics from some of his many adventures, of which I had yet to hear all of. The table was long and highly polished, and set with crystal, china, and twisted silver candlesticks whose tapers provided a flickering glow. The man, Nestor, who'd announced dinner earlier, pulled a padded chair out for me as I sat at the table.

All of this, obviously, was new and overwhelming to me, but I must admit, my attention was now elsewhere. After a lifetime of mushrooms, gamy stew and an assortment of cheap or even foraged food, the smells that were coming from the kitchen area were making my mouth water. I never even understood that expression until this dinner. My stomach gave an undignified snarl, making Snowy stand up and offer a retaliation, although no one else, thank goodness, seemed to notice.

Everyone who was at the table already was familiar to me: the Professor, the Signora, and, of course, Tintin, who looked around a moment before inquiring where the Captain was.

"Here I am, by thunder, don't mind my lateness-I've only just mastered the art of rolling this ridiculous contraption around!" The booming voice suited the man who wielded it, and I was suddenly and irrationally shy. This man was, according to Tintin, his dearest friend and ally; a part of me wondered if Tintin would continue to waste his time on me if his friend did not deem me worthy.

I needn't have worried. Tintin introduced us, and as I made to get up, the Captain bade me to sit. "Never mind that, young lady. We'll greet properly after dinner-I'm not sure I trust myself to wield this thing over to you just now. _Enchante, _in any case."

"Captain Hatrack," the singer said. "Don't you just love that dress on young Miss Vadoma? Chanel suits anyone, you know."

"Er, very nice, I suppose," Haddock said, looking awkwardly at her. "Not that I'm up-to-date on the latest fashion trends, Signora."

"Hardly!" she laughed in reply. "That dress is from last season! Though I shall say that dear Coco's work is rather timeless, in its own way"

The Professor, who had been listening to this exchange, growing more and more livid, set his water glass down on the table with great force, causing it to shatter and spray icy water all over the Captain. "No! No, I shall not stand for it! For shame, Captain Haddock: you should know better than to mention such a salubrious topic at the dinner table. There are ladies present!"

I could sympathize with the Captain as he tried to wipe himself down with a napkin, calling for Nestor to pick up the shattered glass. "We were only talking of Miss Vadoma's dress, you pickled herring! HER DRESS!" He resorted to shouting in the end, while the Professor leaned close as if to hear the tiniest whisper. It was all I could do to bite my tongue to keep from laughing, and a glance over at Tintin showed his fist in front of his mouth, covering a grin. He caught my eye and I felt myself erupt into real laughter, causing him to do the same.

"Well, I'm glad that we old folks are so amusing to you kids," the Captain said gruffly. "Blistering barnacles, that's right. You two whippersnappers shouldn't spend time with all of us. Tintin, honestly, you should know better." He called to Nestor once more. "Nestor, pack up some dinner and let these two take it outside somewhere. Besides," he added, turning to me. "I daresay that you'd be more comfortable without all of us saddlebags hanging about."

"Such language, Captain Dryrock!" the Signora said. "I never-"

"I don't want to put anyone out," I stammered, hoping to head off an oncoming argument. Besides, every second that ticked by was one closer to the inevitable: my departure from this dream and back to my own dreary world. "I don't mind you saddlebags being here."

At this everyone began to laugh, myself included.

Soon the conversation turned relatively normal again. The Signora mentioned someone that they all seemed to know, and she and the Captain began discussing this person in great detail, the Professor interjecting with his own, unique, observations-though none as inflammatory as the last one. I glanced at Tintin, unsure if we were really going to eat on our own, or if that had just been another of the Captain's jokes. He nodded towards the door to the kitchen, where Nestor had appeared with a large wicker basket and a blanket draped over his arm. I felt Tintin rise beside me, felt him place his hands on the back of my chair to move it for me as I stood. The Professor rose too, as I did, and bowed dramatically. The Captain saluted fiercely, and as I was turning away I noticed him giving a wink to Tintin, whose reaction I missed.

Soon we were walking through the house once more, alone now that Nestor had handed off the basket and blanket to Tintin. We traveled through the rear of the house, and outside towards an area that I had not been to yet. He led me silently towards an area that was walled-off from the rest of the manor; it appeared to be something of a private garden, surrounded by sturdy brick and climbing ivies, and would not be visible to anyone easily. I felt oddly relieved and nervous at once: from here, no one could see me, but, though we had been alone together before, this was the first instance where I felt that we were really _separated_ from everything around us. Anything could happen here, and the thought thrilled and terrified me.

Snowy paused at the squeaky metal gate to lie on his side and proceed to fall asleep in the coming twilight. The air was pleasant and cool, though I wasn't chilly in the dress, and the garden smelled wonderfully of green growing things. Tintin brought us to a small clearing, set the basket down, and began to unwrap the blanket, and soon we were seated on the soft earth, after removing any rocks or sticks that may have caused discomfort. Though there was still enough light, I knew that soon it would be dark, and began to rummage in the basket to locate our food before we couldn't see.

"I think I saw Nestor put in some candles," Tintin remarked. Indeed, I found some glass-ensconced ones carefully stowed inside, and some matches as well.

"I like Nestor," I remarked, lighting the candles and placing them in a vague circle around our blanket. "He's sharper than many _gadjos _that I've heard about. And your friends are very welcoming, if a bit strange."

He chuckled. "They're very excited to meet you at last. I'm a pretty private person," he explained. "And they are all very accepting of that, for the most part. But this," he gestured to the picnic, the candles, the garden, "This is not something that I have done before, and I think that they're a little thrown for a loop."

I turned so that we were facing each other, my dress spread out carefully to cover my folded legs. "You don't bring girls here often, then?" I could not help but smile.

"Never," he replied, leaning forward. He swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. "Miranda, I...I want to say something, and I need you to promise that you will let me say what I need to before you reply."

My skin prickled, and I nodded mutely.

He shifted closer to me, until our knees were barely touching, and took my hands in his own. "I've told you about some of my 'exploits.' I've fought criminals on five continents, traveled to the proverbial ends of the earth and beyond, and faced terrible odds that I somehow stumbled my way through. But I never," and now our knees were pressed together, and his grip was firm, and my heart was racing in my chest. "Never have I been so terrified as I am when I think about whatever it is that is so strong between us."

He paused, which was agonizing, but I was not sure that I trusted my voice enough to urge him on. Finally he continued. "For the first time in my life, I'm faced with a dilemma for which I cannot find an acceptable solution. If we continue this....relationship, you will most certainly be cast out of your family-or worse-and you will be miserable, and it will be my doing." He sighed again, and it was my turn to squeeze his hands. "However," he went on, "if I stop seeing you, and we end this relationship, it will most certainly be my undoing. I find that I am not as strong as I thought." This last part was said with a small, bitter laugh that made him sound older than he looked. He met my eyes again. "So, Miranda called Mira, I am at a crossroads, and I guess I'd just like to know where you stand on all of this."

"I think that I'm falling in love with you," I said, my voice cracking shamefully. I cleared my throat and said it again. "Tintin, I think that I love you. I'm not sure, mind you, since it's a new experience, but I think that's why it's so hard to stay away from you." I very much wanted to lower my eyes demurely as I said this, but I could not look away from him. He seemed a bit dazed himself.

"That would explain a lot of things," he mused after a moment. "All that I really know of love is that it makes men do very foolish things. Like this...." He reached his hand to my cheek and pulled me gently to him; though he needn't have, because I was reaching for him at the same moment. His arm was steady and strong, and pulled me close. I felt his muscles flex beneath his skin, his strength evident beneath the slender limbs as his hands cupped my face lovingly, and we kissed again. It started off gentle and hesitant, but a warmth began to spread through my body as I pressed myself closer to him, and the kisses became harder, more urgent, as if any moment we could be torn away from each other. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and felt his hands slide down my sides to rest at the small of my back-innocuous enough in theory-but in that moment his touch made me tremble as my body flushed with warmth again.

A small moan of pleasure escaped my lips and I felt him press himself closer to me, nearly forcing me backwards. All other thoughts had left my mind: the hope that I would not wrinkle the dress too obviously; the fear that my family would discover us in this particular moment; and the persistent growling of my stomach. I ran my hands through his coppery hair, and mussed his trademark quiff, (which he had confessed to being in existence due to a sheer inability on his part to tame the unruly lock,) and his hands slipped lower, to my hips. Suddenly, I felt something hard at my back, and the mundane yet startling clinking of glass. We had moved in such a way that we knocked over two of the candles, which was enough of a distraction to cause us to come up for air.

Tintin took a deep breath and leaned back away from me, shifting somewhat awkwardly as he did so while I cleared my throat and perfunctorily smoothed out my dress. We righted the candles, and my stomach snarled again. He laughed and reached for the basket and began pulling out dishes and a small covered pan. "Here, I think that Nestor packed us some of his famous vegetable lasagna. Your stomach sounds like Snowy when he's hungry!"

At the mention of the dog I glanced around. It was dark now, and I did not see the white of his fur anywhere. "He's still by the gate," Tintin explained. "Guarding us in his own way, I suspect. He'll let us know if anyone approaches."

I took a fork and plate from him eagerly and tasted the strange dish. It was, to use a favorite word of the Signora's, sublime. I grinned at Tintin, who seemed to have regained most of his composure, as he poured two tumblers of water. He smiled back, and handed me a glass. We held them aloft and pressed them together in a toast.

"To doing foolish things in the name of love," he said.

"To traveling this difficult, wonderful road," I replied. "Hopefully we won't stumble too often."

To this day, I cannot recall exactly how much time we spent there, in the secluded garden. Time seemed to pass quickly for us; at times we were doubled over with laughter. Other times, we spoke quietly of more serious matters, most of which revolved around his past and my future. What can I say in my defense, except that I was in love for the first time in my life? It was during a brief pause in the conversation that I heard the tell-tale voice of Peter, _We'd better check the gadjo's house, she's probably with that young man._

Apprehension flooded my body, and I looked at Tintin, who seemed to notice my change in demeanor.

"What is it? Are they looking for you?"

I nodded, and glanced around me as if expecting to see Peter and Mike leap out of the bushes. "They don't sound very pleased. I'd better go."

We stood up, and I started to gather the blanket and dishes, but Tintin stopped me. "I'll come back for it. Let's just get you home."

Snowy was still asleep by the gate, though he woke up as soon as Tintin passed by, and began following his master silently. We headed back towards the house, where I intended to fetch my clothes before heading back to the _tambor. _ However, as we approached the Hall I could hear shouting.

"Blistering barnacles, I'm telling you that she'd not in this house!" The Captain's voice echoed across the grounds, making us stop in our tracks and Snowy's ears prick up.

I clasped my hand over my mouth when I heard Mike's response. "You _gadjos, _you're all the same! Are you so careless with all of your possessions as you are with your women?"

Tintin and I looked at each other before I shook my head. "We can't let this go any further," I said.

He nodded. "I agree. The Captain doesn't need to be involved in this."

I took a deep breath and we crossed the lawn to the house, where the shouting match was escalating. Mike can get rather....loud when he's angry, and from what I knew of the Captain, his temper was just as volatile. I squeezed Tintin's hand and tried to only look straight ahead, my chin up. We both knew that we were no longer going to sneak around and try to pretend that the thing between us was not there. It was obvious the moment that we became visible, for they both grew silent. I tried to imagine what we looked like, two incongruous figures emerging from the darkness.

Mike's eyes took me in, my dress, my bare feet, my proud stance. He scowled. Then he looked at Tintin, and his expression deepened. He turned away from the Captain and began to approach us, arms hanging loosely at his side, but I knew him too well to think that he was relaxed. I felt Tintin tense beside me, felt him place his body slightly in front of me, as though to offer protection. Looking at Mike's glare, I thought that I would need it.

"Mira," he said shortly as we met. "It's time to leave." He grabbed my arm so tightly that I yelped, which of course caused Tintin to step between us.

"I understand that you're angry," he said calmly. "I want to talk to you-and to your father-and try to resolve this. There's no need for violence." He placed his hand over Mike's firm grasp of my arm.

"Please, Mike," I added, wincing as his grip tightened. "Please let go, you're hurting me."

Abruptly, his grip loosened. He glared at Tintin once more and beckoned me back to the camp. "Not as much as you are hurting yourself, not to mention the rest of your family. Let's go then. Peter and the others are waiting."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten-May 27(still)**

We made the long walk to the camp in silence, save for a few moments when Tintin stopped to speak quietly with the Captain. Mike, unexpectedly, waited patiently for the exchange before leading us on. I did not fetch my old clothes. Instead, I began to worry at the sleeve of my new dress, anxious thoughts running in circles in my mind. Suddenly, I felt a warmth clasp over my right hand; I looked over at Tintin's smile. _It will be all right,_ his expression seemed to convey. I nodded mutely, and we walked on.

Soon we were back at the camp, which was ominously quiet. I swallowed hard as I saw them lined up around the fire; Peter and a number of other older men in our _tambor _stood silently. These were men that I had known my entire life, men that had laughed with my father and mother and wept with Ana and myself when they passed from this world, and now they watched me approach, silent and stern.

I felt cold, miserable, and wholly unprepared for what was forthcoming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my sister and Lucia, along with many other of the women and children watching from within the wagon windows. I was suddenly very aware that I was not wearing my own clothes. _You've made your choices, _ I thought as I finally stood before the elders_. Now you must face the consequences. _I raised my chin, determined not to be cowed by their stern gazes, and looked at Peter, who seemed smaller somehow, a bit less imposing than I think he should've appeared at a time like this.

As he had watched me approach, Peter's expression revealed nothing of his inner thoughts. The firelight flickered on the faces of the council, shadowing their features eerily, and once more I was struck with the surrealism of the whole evening's events. On a normal night, this was the time when we would be settling the young ones to bed and finishing up the last of the day's chores; at that moment, I would've much rather scrubbed all of the dishes in the camp for the rest of my life than face my family in this manner.

"Miranda," Peter's voice rang out suddenly, causing me to start. "You have been _marhime_ since the age of fourteen, and have therefore been granted liberties that no other Romany woman in this camp, or any other that I am aware of, shares. You have the freedom to travel as you like, with Felix; you are not expected to constantly supervise the children or prepare the meals, or anything of that nature. Partly, this is due to your status, but you are also our beloved daughter, a child of the Rom, and for that you will always be precious to us."

My spirits rose slightly. _Perhaps it won't be so bad, after all.... _

"However," Peter continued, and I winced. "Your actions of late suggest to me that you are not satisfied with the current arrangement, and I think that we are all at a loss as to what should be done."

"In my day, any woman that defied the laws of the Rom was cast out of the family, and no one looked back," Silas, the oldest man in our group, said in a low voice. I felt my chest tighten, and cast a quick look to Tintin, but his face was hidden in the shadows.

Peter nodded. "Yes, grandfather, but I like to think that we are different now. Does that way not seem harsh to you?"

"She's broken every law," Mike growled. "She's proven herself to be unmanageable." He lifted his chin. "Let me have her, father. When she is my wife, there will be no more of this nonsense."

At his words, the fear in my belly turned to anger. "If I'm so 'unmanageable,' Mike, what do you intend to do with me? Lock me away in a caravan for the rest of my life? Or stone me to death if I defy you?"

Mike laughed, as though at one of Miarka's childish jokes. "Even the wildest horse can be tamed."

"Please, leave her be." Tintin's voice was calm and quiet, yet carried more weight than any of us. "None of this is her fault; I'm the one that initiated everything....it's my fault that we are all here now. Please, if you're going to blame someone, blame me."

"Tintin....." I tried to interject, but Peter raised his hand, the call for silence.

"A noble gesture, young _gadjo, _but unnecessary. This has nothing to do with you; Miranda's actions have long been a source of contention to us, and her involvement with you is merely the breaking point. If anyone is to blame, it is the foolish, doddering man who allowed her to carry on in such a fashion." Peter sighed, and in that moment, he looked very old to me. "I do not expect you to understand," he continued. "We are not the most forthcoming people when it comes to our customs. But the fact remains that we simply cannot allow one of our women to marry a _gadjo." _He looked at me again, and my heart began to race even as my blood felt like it was turning to ice, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it. "Miranda, you must make a choice: the _gadjo, _or your family. I'm sorry, but it can't be any other way."

***

The rest of that night was a blur. Peter and the others gave me the night to make my decision, and soon Tintin and me were sitting by the dying embers of the fire. Mike prowled around for a few minutes, before Peter called him away, leaving us alone at last. I sat hugging my arms around my waist, staring at without seeing the glowing fragments of the fire, while Tintin sat beside me, not touching me, his hands folded in front of his mouth; for a long while, we sat in silence.

Finally I could not take it any more. "I don't know what to do," I whispered. My face felt hot from the fire, and my eyes were pricking. "I can't make this choice."

"You shouldn't have to," Tintin replied, his voice barely audible. He turned to me, and seeing his expression caused a fresh wave of grief to flood my senses. "Miranda, I'm so sorry. I never meant to cause you all this trouble. I just....I didn't think that the one person who I could spend the rest of my life with would be the one person totally forbidden to me." He reached out and wiped my cheeks; I was unaware that I had been crying. "Did I mention how sorry I was?"

"I'm sorry too," I said. "I wish that I wasn't such a foolish, selfish girl....none of us would be this heartsick otherwise."

Tintin took my hands, and kissed my fingertips gently. "Miranda, you are many, many things, but foolish and selfish are not among them." He looked stricken. "I think that you should go with your family." I stared at him, but he continued. "It's your choice, I know, but I don't want you to regret anything. Believe me, I know what it's like to not have a family.....and it's not something that I would wish on my worst enemy, let alone someone that I love."

"But....." Of course, normal speech failed me at this point, and I simply looked at him, mutely.

He kissed me once, softly and carefully, and stood up. "I won't lie; I would be delighted if you'd stay with me, but not at the cost of you loosing your family and everyone that you hold dear."

He made to walk away, and I grabbed his hand, pulled him to me, and kissed him again fiercely. "I love you too, Tintin."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven-May 28 (early morning)**

I do not remember when I fell asleep. I don't think that I made it to my caravan before I passed out, even though that was where I woke up, many hours later, to the jostling and creaking of the wagon as it trundled down the road. The caravan was empty, save for my nephew, Tomas, who sat at the foot of my bed, watching me soberly. I sat up, dazed, and wondering if the past evening's events had been a dream.

"What time is it, Tomas? Where are we?" I asked my nephew, who shrugged nonchalantly, but made no reply. I sighed. "Where are your mother and father?"

At this he brightened. "Da's feeling better, so he and Ma are driving the wagon." He puffed up his little chest as he spoke. "Da told me that I was a good man for taking care of his women while he wasn't feeling so good. Juggles is with them too," he added as an afterthought.

I stood up carefully, though my legs were long used to keeping their balance in a moving wagon, and peered out of the calico curtains. We were in village that was, by my estimation, about twenty kilometers from Marlinspike. Confusion coiled into anger within me as the realization of the situation dawned. _They lied to me, _I thought. _They offered me a choice which they never intended to let me make._ I glanced at Tomas, who was fiddling with a pocketknife that Mike had given him on his last birthday, then unlatched the wagon's back door, intending to leap out. Tomas looked up fearfully.

"No, Miranda! I'm supposed to watch out for you; Mike'll be angry if you leave!"

I bit back the scathing reply that formed on my tongue, remembering that he was a child, after all. _What a different life from mine his will be. _"Calm down, Tom. I just want some fresh air. Why don't you sit with me, if you're that worried?" I eased myself carefully onto the rear ledge, letting my skirts dangle off the side; someone, Ana most likely, had changed me into one of my dresses and covered my hair. I wondered briefly what had become of the Signora's purple gown as Tomas scrambled beside me, and we watched the road stretch out behind us.

***

We traveled at a relatively brisk pace for most of the day. I didn't speak to anyone beside Tomas until we stopped for a brief meal, and I went to fetch Felix. Mike had tethered him behind Lucia and Peter's wagon, and refused to let me ride him, despite my extremely vocal protestations. Finally, Ana pulled me back towards our wagon, begging me to be silent.

"It's not fair!" I said as we began to trundle on once more. Reuben had decided to lie down for a bit, so it was up to Ana and me to guide the caravan. "I raised Felix from a foal; I trained him then and take care of him now.....Mike can't just take him from me."

Ana sighed, and looked at me as though I were one of her own misbehaving children. "You really don't know how much trouble you've caused, do you?"

I was silent.

She shook her head. "Stubborn girl."

_What did I tell you? They won't have got far...._I inclined my head as two unfamiliar voices bubbled to the surface of my mind, as if from the deepest depths.

_Believed to have left Marlinspike within past few hours for unknown destination....._A man's voice, as if filtered by a radio, flickered in my thoughts. I raised my head and glanced behind us, down the long road, and caught a brief glimpse of flashing lights.

"What is it?" Ana's voice betrayed her concern.

I shook my head, and once more felt the pricking in my eyes. She sighed again, and rubbed my back affectionately. "You'll be alright again, Mira. Just give it time."

***

The police caught up with us the next evening, causing chaos and confusion as they pulled up in their gleaming cars, lights flashing. I was, obviously, the only one who had known that they were coming, and, I must admit that I felt a flash of pleasure at seeing Mike scrambling to calm the horses. (Felix, naturally, remained calm.) Soon Peter and Mike were deep in conversation with the police, the rest of us only catching snatches of the heated conversation.

"....ridiculous assumption! We are honest folk......"

"...evidence points to you. We understand that...."

"He's been in his cage! The only one who can handle him has been ill for weeks!"

And so on.

I was the only one not interested in the goings on. Instead, I packed. I didn't own much in the way of worldly goods, but there was my mother's favorite necklace, the few books that I had read dozens of times, and, of course, my father's guitar. I also stowed a few extra clothes and provisions, though I could live off the land indefinitely like any good Rom, and a little bit of cash that I kept for emergencies. Finally, I was ready, at least physically. A part of me knew that I would never be truly ready, but my mind was made up.

I found Ana, Lucia, and the children sitting with some of the others watching the interrogation. "How's it going?" I asked.

Ana shook her head. "They don't believe us, of course."

"What else is new?" I replied wryly. She smiled for a moment, then frowned as she saw my face.

"Oh, Mira."

I felt my resolve waver as our gazes met. Then I raised my chin, and said calmly, "I'm going to step into the bushes for a moment."

She covered her mouth and nodded, her eyes tearing up. I turned to leave, hoping that she wouldn't cause any more of a scene, as Lucia and Miarka were both looking at her oddly. I stepped away, and headed for the bushes where I stowed my guitar and pack, just as Ana hurried up and embraced me.

"This is the path you've chosen, then?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Please be careful_, cheya," _she whispered, truly crying now.

I inhaled the scent of family one last time and felt my own eyes watering as well. "I will. You too. Say goodbye to Felix for me, I won't get a chance."

Her laugh was low. "You and that horse, I swear. Will you marry the _gadjo, _then?"

I hugged her again. "Perhaps one day, Ana. I love you. May your road always be smooth, and your heart unburdened by sorrow."

"And yours too, little sister."

Moments later, I was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve-Three months later**

I don't particularly want to recount much of those next few days. Mostly I was cold, as I dared not to light a fire, and I was lonely, for painfully obvious reasons. It took me a bit of time to decide the direction that I was to head, but eventually I began to make my way to Italy.

It was slow going, at first. I couldn't afford a train ticket for such a long journey, especially since I had to spend some money on new clothes and shoes in order to look a bit less like a ragged Romany girl and more like something akin to a respectable young woman. Needless to say, I had a long way to go, but at least people stopped glaring at me and stepping away conspicuously. However, I had a few skills, and found that I could earn quite a few coins with my guitar and voice, and so the journey was made a little more bearable with a source of income, though meager.

As I have said, we Rom are nothing if not opportunistic.

I wrote letters, as well, though not to the one person whom I truly wanted to speak to. No, I wrote to the Signora, finding the address of her fan club in a music store in Neuchatel, and later to Irma, when I thought that the Signora might not ever receive my letters. I even tried to phone her once, after hearing on the radio that she had left Belgium for Milan.

The constant chatter of people, on radios in shops and cars, on the occasional televisions that I saw scattered through the cities, and of the strangers next to me in a cafe, or bus, was at once comforting, distracting, and terrifying. I cannot describe it, really, except that it was all so new. Every day, I learned more about the world than I ever dreamed could be, and still there was more to learn, more to understand....and the more I learned, the more I realized that I knew nothing at all.

France was pleasant; pretty, though the people were a bit rude-not I could blame them, shoddy as I looked. I avoided Germany as much as possible, the stories that Peter and Lucia had told made me sick to my stomach, and I found that I was not ready or willing to visit that country any time soon. Switzerland was dazzlingly beautiful, and I marveled at the mountains, which I had never seen up close, but they all paled in comparison to Italy. I was too busy gaping at the elaborate architecture to care that all of the immaculate, beautiful Italians regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and mockery.

My first hour in Milan was spent wandering aimlessly about the city, too overwhelmed by its grandeur to do much more than crane my neck and wish that I could afford a camera. However, soon I settled down to the business of finding a school with the word "butterfly" in the name-in Italian, of course. I

It was no easy task, especially since part of me was certain that the Signora had not remembered the name correctly. This fact was verified when the name _farfalla _simply made people look at me as if I was mad.

Finally, around mid-afternoon, I purchased some lunch from a street vendor, and sat in a small park, eating a dish that I had already forgotten the name of, but which had a thin, baked crust topped with salt, pepper and olive oil. It was more expensive than I would have liked, but I felt that I deserved a treat. There was a woman, about Ana's age, playing a mandolin next to a fountain, and she was very good. It was nice to sit in the warm summer sun for a while, closing my eyes and letting the unfamiliar music wash over me, along with the sounds of people laughing and talking and going about their lives.

I was so entranced by the music, that I almost fell off of the bench in surprise as she stopped, and began to collect her instrument and case. At once, I caught the scent of familiar perfume on the wind, and it drew me out of my daze. I stood and rushed over to her, holding out the last of my _lire _to her.

"Your music is lovely," I said in French, expecting her to nod politely and not respond, as most Italians had done. Instead, she surprised me by taking my cash readily, and grinning at me.

"Thanks," she replied, also in French, and I felt excitement leap within me.

"I wonder if you can help me," I continued. "I'm looking for a school for musicians, something to do with butterflies.....It was recommended to me by a friend, but she couldn't recall the name correctly. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Her brow furrowed as she pondered my words, then she shrugged. I felt my spirits slink back into their dark crevasses. "No, not butterflies. But, there is this place....C_risalida-_it means 'chrysalis,'-where some of my friends go." She took my proffered map and pointed out the area where the school was located.

I wanted to tip her again, but instead merely smiled. "Thank you, madame."

She smiled in return, and I was reminded strongly of Ana, and turned away before she could see the tears forming in my eyes.

***

Once I had a name, and a general location, it was not difficult to find _La Scuola di Crisalide di Musica e L'arte Dello Spettacolo_, called _Crisalida _by its students and teachers. The challenge was getting accepted, and since I had no chance of sleeping in a bed tonight if they didn't allow me to study there, I was determined, to say the least.

The head instructor, a thin, balding man with long slender fingers named Roberto, listened to my story without comment, until I mentioned the Signora's name. At this, he threw back his head and laughed openly, the sound reverberating through his small office and into the streets.

"Bianca Castafiore? As I live and breathe.....do you have any proof of what you say?"

"Not physical proof. She didn't give me a letter of recommendation, if that's what you mean."

"Then how am I supposed to believe a little Gypsy girl such as yourself?"

My eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me a liar?"

He shrugged, and said something in Italian, which irked me even more since I didn't understand. I stood up. "Thank you for your time, sir. I won't trouble you any more." I picked up my guitar case and pack and made to leave, but he called out to me as my fingertips touched the doorknob.

"If you don't want to audition, Miss Vadoma, please continue through that door. But if you want to attend this school, and work here to pay for your tuition and room, as you mentioned, I will need to hear you play." I turned slowly, staring at him, certain it was a trick. However, he gestured to the seat, and folded his hands expectantly.

I sat back down and took out my guitar, noticing with a flash of pleasure how his eyes lit up when he saw how the afternoon light caught the whorls and wood grains in its body. After tuning for a moment, I played one of my father's favorite songs, a simple melody about a grassy field and the song of birds. Roberto listened without comment until the last strains had died, then he nodded.

"Another?"

And so on. I played for nearly two hours, singing everything from ballads of love and romance to modern pop songs that I'd learned on the trip to this spot. I ended with a melody that I had been fiddling with, in an attempt to put a certain poem into words.

"_You enter suddenly, and I am nowhere again._.." The final refrain ended, and I looked up at Roberto hopefully. He smiled, and held out his hand.

"Welcome to _Crisalida, _Miss Vadoma."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen-Two months later**

"You have a visitor, Miranda."

I looked up from the dishes that I was scrubbing to see Evangeline, one of my fellow students, standing in the kitchen doorway. She looked nervous, but I didn't think much of it as I removed my rubber gloves, wiped my face on the edge of my apron, and stepped out into the hall. The smell of jasmine and cassis hit me an instant before her voice rang out with joy.

"Darling girl! Come, let me embrace you, poor thing!"

"Hello Signora," I laughed, dizzy from the overpowering presence, and perfume, of the singer. "Hello, Irma." I waved to the maid, who smiled and returned the gesture in kind.

The Signora stood back and looked me once over, tut-tutting at my unkempt appearance. "Child, what shall we do with you? Look at that dress!"

I shrugged. "I don't need a fancy dress, Signora. All I do is chores when I'm not studying. And my guitar doesn't care how my outfit looks, as long as I practice."

At the Signora's request, we retired to the dining room, and Irma brought some tea while we talked. She told me of her upcoming tour-to South America-and of the "theft" of her emerald. "I was so upset to hear that your Gypsy friends were blamed without cause," she said, dabbing her eyes with a pure white handkerchief. "But thanks to your young man, I have my precious jewel again! I still cannot believe that it was a silly magpie, after all!" She laughed, a trill that made my ears pop. "But surely you must know all that, darling? I would think that young lovers such as yourselves would write constantly."

I took a sip of tea, not bothering to correct her. Instead, I told her of my journey here, leaving out some of my less than proud moments of vagrancy, and she clapped her hands with an almost childish delight.

"My child, what a story you are! And to think, you came all the way here on your own...."

I shrugged again. "I'm just grateful that you told me about this place, Signora. I've learned so much already."

She gave me a sharp look. "It is hard, yes?" I nodded, and she sipped her tea, satisfied. "Good. Things in life that are worth having come at a price, you know." We sat in silence for a moment, listening to someone practicing Chopin. The signora put down her cup with a soft clink. "That reminds me, I was going to ask if you'd heard from dear Tintin after the accident."

My chest tightened, and my blood ran cold. "Accident?" I croaked.

"Nothing serious, dear," she said quickly, putting her hand over mine. "Tintin, Captain Harrock, and that charming little Professor-and some others, I suppose-were involved in a little airplane accident." She then preceded to tell me the fantastic story; and how none of them had any memory of the actual accident at all. "They are all unharmed though, and safely home," she said at last. "I was going to call the dear _il povero capitano_ this evening when I returned home. Shall I pass on any message for you, my dear?"

I knew that she was baiting me, and so I kept my mouth shut, idly stirring my tea. "I'm glad to see you again, Signora. Now Roberto and I can settle a score."

The signora and Irma left about half an hour later, with promises to return many more times. I went back to the dishes, my mind reeling with questions._ Was he truly injured? Did the amnesia affect his memories of our time together? Would I ever see him again? _I was not sure if I wanted to; the memories of our stolen kisses were mixed with my painful separation from my home and family, and I was not sure if I could ever disassociate the two. I had made up my mind that I did not deserve happiness with Tintin if it meant leaving my family, just as I could not live happily with my _kumpania _if I was forced to be separate from him. Two opposing roads had been laid before me, and I had forsaken each of them for an uncertain, intangible path whose end I could not foresee.

As I have said, I am foolish, and stubborn, and neither of those traits make for a happy life.

***

Two days later, I was returning from a nearby grocer when I saw a glint of copper in the early morning light, as if someone had tossed a handful of coins into the sunlight. _A good omen, _ I thought, before I could stop myself. I turned the corner, onto the street where the school was located, and promptly dropped everything that I was carrying.

He was here.

Tired-looking and rumpled, as though he had not slept in days, but nevertheless, he was here, with a bouquet of wildflowers and a hopeful expression. We stood facing each other for a moment as the tomatoes and bread loaves that I'd purchased rolled around our feet ridiculously. Finally, he spoke.

"Miranda, I....I wanted to see you." He looked frustrated, as I often do when simple language fails me. "I know that you came here for a reason, that you want to make a place for yourself, on your own, and I truly want you to as well, but I just....I just wanted you to know that I still love you, that nothing about how I feel about you has changed, and-"

He never finished his sentence, and the flowers fell to the cobbled street as I rushed into his arms, and kissed him mightily. It was better than I remembered. When we parted, my eyes were weeping though my heart was joyous, and he ran his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping the tears away.

"Miranda...are you okay?"

"Yes," I hiccuped, grinning at him like a fool as we kissed again, and again. "I am now."

**The End**

**Epilogue**

_Tintin stayed with me in Milan the rest of the semester, renting a small apartment nearby so that he could accompany me as I attended the school, leaving only occasionally to spend time with the Captain at my request, for I didn't want him to lose the only family he had on my account. There was a brief trip to South America, I recall, to rescue the Signora, Irma, and several others from a dictator-a story recounted by better writers than I__. Suffice it to say that this story was merely the beginning of our long journey, together._


End file.
